The Taming of Red Butte Western eBook

Thus Judson, who was still sober, and who meant to
be faithful according to his gifts. He was scarcely
blameworthy for not knowing of the existence of a
small back room in the rear of the gambling-den; or
for the further unknowledge of the fact that the man
in search of diversion had passed on into this back
room after placing a few bets at the silent game,
appearing no more until he had come out through the
gambling-room on his way to the train. If Judson
had dared to press his espial, he might have been
the poorer by the loss of blood, or possibly of his
life; but, living to get away with it, he would have
been the richer for an important bit of information.
For one thing, he would have known that Flemister
had not spent the afternoon losing his money across
the faro-table; and for another, he might have made
sure, by listening to the subdued voices beyond the
closed door, that the man he was shadowing was not
alone in the back room to which he had retreated.

XI

NEMESIS

On the second day following Flemister’s visit
to Angels, Lidgerwood was called again to Red Butte
to another conference with the mine-owners. On
his return, early in the afternoon, his special was
slowed and stopped at a point a few miles east of
the “Y” spur at Silver Switch, and upon
looking out he saw that Benson’s bridge-builders
were once more at work on the wooden trestle spanning
the Gloria. Benson himself was in command, but
he turned the placing of the string-timbers over to
his foreman and climbed to the platform of the superintendent’s
service-car.

“I won’t hold you more than a few minutes,”
he began, but the superintendent pointed to one of
the camp-chairs and sat down, saying: “There’s
no hurry. We have time orders against 73 at Timanyoni,
and we would have to wait there, anyhow. What
do you know now?—­more than you knew the
last time we talked?”

Benson shook his head. “Nothing that would
do us any good in a jury trial,” he admitted
reluctantly. “We are not going to find out
anything more until you send somebody up to Flemister’s
mine with a search-warrant.”

Lidgerwood was gazing absently out over the low hills
intervening between his point of view and the wooded
summit of Little Butte.

“Whom am I to send, Jack?” he asked.
“I have just come from Red Butte, and I took
occasion to make a few inquiries. Flemister is
evidently prepared at all points. From what I
learned to-day, I am inclined to believe that the
sheriff of Timanyoni County would probably refuse to
serve a warrant against him, if we could find a magistrate
who would issue one. Nice state of affairs, isn’t
it?”

“Beautiful,” Benson agreed, adding:
“But you don’t want Flemister half as
bad as you want the man who is working with him.
Are you still trying to believe that it isn’t
Hallock?”

“I am still trying to be fair and just.
McCloskey says that the two used to be friends—­Hallock
and Flemister. I don’t believe they are
now. Hallock didn’t want to go to Flemister
about that building-and-loan business, and I couldn’t
make out whether he was afraid, or whether it was
just a plain case of dislike.”